Blot Out The Moon, Pull Down The

When You Are A Child You Are Yourself And You Know And See Everything Prophetically. And Then Suddenly Something Happens And You Stop Being Yourself; You Become What Others Force You To Be. You Lose Your Wisdom And Your Soul.

All Of A Writer That Matters Is In The Book Or Books. It Is Idiotic To Be Curious About The Person.

I Sit At My Window And The Words Fly Past Me Like Birds — With God's Help I Catch Some.

It's Funny, He Said, Have You Ever Thought That A Girl's Clothes Cost More Than The Girl Inside Them?

Every Word I Say Has Chains Round Its Ankles; Every Thought I Think Is Weighted With Heavy Weights. Since I Was Born, Hasn't Every Word I've Said, Every Thought I've Thought, Everything I've Done, Been Tied Up, Weighted, Chained? And Mind You, I Know That With All This I Don't Succeed. Or I Succeed In Flashes Only Too Damned Well. ...but Think How Hard I Try And How Seldom I Dare. Think - And Have A Bit Of Pity. That Is, If You Ever Think, You Apes, Which I Doubt.